There’s a reason Why cats don’t like Having their stomachs scratched. A cat’s stomach Is soft and vulnerable, And a gentle touch Could turn into a killing blow. There’s a reason Why I like cats, Because my heart Is soft and vulnerable, And my dearest friend Could turn into my

I hear the hadedas call As I lie in my bed. They announce the sun’s arrival, Their songs echoing in my heart. The early morning sunlight streams in, And the dogs sneak into my room, Begging for a little bit of love. I rise with the hot African sun, And

Written by Mateo Garzon The needle dragged against the spinning wheel We sat at the table and delt the cards You spilt some of your wine on my table 4We locked our eyes, and there it was Certainly uncertain, knowing only what we know But fairly certain on the uncertain

[Does it do you well] to be Angry?                         To beat until your Fists are bloody?                         To rage until your Heart burns down?                         To spit venom until your Soul sours?             Why do you hold on?             Why try to Grip the fire? Why try to Burn to

By Isaac Stiles In a faraway land, in a cave of the earth, Dwelt a dragon most foul, a devourer of men. It brought many to death e’en while promising mirth, For the dragon would lie to bring prey to its den. I was one who did hear it while

Written by Greg Phillips Concussed was I, in bed with greatest pain; The noisy world ravaged my injured mind. I planted Peace to soothe my aching brain; Silence grew near, but Peace I did not find. The busy days and weary nights ran on; Though healed of mind, anxiety abounds.

Why is it easier to hurt the ones you love the most? In the middle of America’s Heartland, a small town in Indiana named Corehart sat. People boasted of its talent–a contrast to its small size–because everything made there didn’t just come from the townsfolk’s hands, it came from their

Written by Isabelle Portis For seven nights in a row, screaming matches in his parents’ bedroom kept Oliver awake. The weight of their war threatened to crush him as their words struck one another and the debris fell upon his shoulders. He knew that something had to be done, and

I wish my mind was like a notebook– bound, orderly, presentable, the spine holding my words together, the pages honoring each thought, but my mind is more like a scrap bin– scattered, messy, conflicted, my ideas a busy melee, my thoughts a disjointed scrawl; that’s why I use a notebook–

Today, Someone donated A whiteboard calendar. Fill in the numbers, write your agenda. Make the Month yours. Etc. Someone had written in the numbers For the months But there were slashmarks through days Instead of Doctor’sappointmentSophie’sborthdayDrycleanersGroceriesDinnerwithMomandDad I looked at the month they’d written: “July 2020” I realized The slashmarks Were